post #2

When the lights roll in from the streetlamps across my bed it frays like defunct gold. No luster. All that light shattering on my body every damn evening. Never enough dark for night to fall. So it'll be.

A guy once told me daytime was completely miserable, boring, dedicated to other people, fulfilling what other people need of you. His back curled his belly closer to his iPad as it loaded an extensive SimCity metropolis, the hunch forcing his briefs to ride up his thighs and hug his 40-year-old tummy.

I scratched his back while reading the movie script he’d be meeting to blindly discuss with the film’s director, distributor, and screenwriter in twenty minutes.

“That’s why you and I are night owls,” he said, “we know better than to waste the only time truly allotted to ourselves.” I think of him fondly. He was cute.